Devin & me

The snow is falling fast and hard.  It’s my fault.  I know this.  All because of my irritating habit of posting happy pictures of warm places when my friends are shoveling decks and driveways with frost bitten fingers.

It’s karma, coming around to bite me in the backside.  I accept this.  I repent.  Now, I must do my penance, like the good, non-catholic that I am.

By 10:30 a.m. nearly a foot of snow was peacefully blanketing my car, with no sign of stopping soon.  So, I donned my high heeled black boots that zip two thirds of the way up my inner calf, my new black beret and the fuzzy mittens Becca sent me in my “warm clothes shipment” and headed out into the white.

No.  I did NOT shovel for an hour and a half in the “stripper boots.” I only wore them long enough to scrape off the trunk of the car, dislodge the ice from the key hole and free the sensible pair of felt lined mukluks that Lois procured for me in advance of my arrival.  I’d left them in the trunk of the car, hoping that by being out of sight, they might also serve as an invisible ward against just this sort of weather.  No such luck.

The toddlers giggled as I came teetering back in, ugly boots under one arm.  They helped me brush the snow off of my coat as I swapped svelte for sensible and pulled the beret down solidly over my ears.

Naturally, I parked my car as far from the road as humanly possible in this suburban driveway, giving me a good thirty foot swath to shovel.  The plow left a nice pile at the end of the driveway, and the bobcat, that reminds me of my Canadian friend, left another when it cleared the walk.  Chuckling as I looked up through the swirling snow globe I set to work, determined to cheerfully bear out my one winter dig of the year.

It took all of about two minutes for Devin to appear, blue toque with a red rim jammed down over his head, no doubt by an over zealous mother, and shiny blue snow shovel in hand.

“You need some help Ma’am?!” He asked with a big toothy smile.

I gladly accepted.

So began the most pleasant hour and a half of shoveling I’ve had in years (okay, it’s been years since I’ve shoveled at all, I freely admit that!)

Devin talked to me about fifth grade, the proper spelling of his name, bullies at school and pig riding; yes, pig riding.

I talked to him about how little the Guatemalan people are, the fact that my kids have never been to school, and camel riding.

All the while he shoveled hard and fast giving me little tips like:

1. “If the snow is wet and heavy, be sure you only take little scoops, you’ll throw your back out!”
2. “It’s easier if I run through here and fluff it up for you first!”
3. “Now, before you back up, let me shovel out from under your wheels.”

I’ve met a few ten year olds; Devin has to be in the top 10% when it comes to work ethic, cheerful disposition and the ability to keep up his end of the conversation while encouraging an old lady to keep shoveling.  All that BEFORE he knew he was making a few bucks for his effort.

That was three hours ago.  The snow is still falling.  I’m going to have to get out there and shovel again when the kids get up from their naps.  It’s hard to believe that just a week ago I was arriving from 80F weather in Guatemala City… or that in four short days I’ll be wiggling my orange toenails in the sun once again.

Until then, I must embrace my fate, accept my just punishment for too many months without winter, and shovel to remind my muscles that they are, after all, Canadians and that this sort of work builds character, not just in my friend Devin, but in me too.  But first… I think I’ll make a big bowl of snow ice cream!

"Look! I found your car!"